


Routine

by captainflintsjacket



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Mentions of Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-29 23:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainflintsjacket/pseuds/captainflintsjacket
Summary: This was supposed to be a Christmas story, but really it just turned out to be you dealing with the aftermath of Jim's death and then his undeath.





	Routine

Wake up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. It was more than routine - it was mechanical. You were a robot trying to ignore the gaping hole in your chest, trying to figure out how to function like a human when your world had stopped turning months ago, when every color seemed dull compared to the piercing blue eyes that still plagued your dreams. Things were easier this way. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work.

The same music played through your office as you typed, Mozart’s Toccata and Fugue. It was the farthest you could get from the 1980s alternative hip hop your ex always listened to. You could still remember the way his eyes would light up whenever a Beastie Boys song came on. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he’d stop everything to jam out on an air guitar like no one was watching. You were, of course. You could never tear your eyes away from him in moments like these. It was the only time that Jim really seemed to completely let loose.

“Helloooo. Anyone home?” Your boss waved his hand in front of your face. You pulled the pen from between your lips, teeth marks all over the cap. How long had you been zoned out this time? 

“Sorry, sir. I’m just…out of it today.” You offered him a weak smile, trying to ignore the pity in his eyes.

He put his hand on your shoulder. A fatherly gesture that made you realize how long it’s been since you’d been touched by someone else. “If you need to take a day…”

“No, I’m…I’m fine. I need to work. We should get back to the meeting.” Your boss frowned but made no attempt to argue as he dived back in.

You gasped for breath as your eyes snapped open. You had to get up. Had to get out. The sheets tightened around your legs and your throat. You couldn’t breathe. Then you were falling, falling until your head caught the edge of the nightstand and your elbow hit the floor. The room spun. Your heart raced. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on anything but the lifeless blue eyes branded onto your mind and the cruel laugh that followed you around every corner.

Blood slid from the wound on your forehead down your cheek, down your neck like a lover’s caress. Every logical brain cell in your body screamed for you to ignore it, to get up, to follow routine, but something sinister twisted inside you. A dragon roaring to life in the cold furnace of your chest. You were a puppet on imaginary strings, watching as your arm was lifted, as your fingers touched your forehead and came away crimson. Then, the dragon spread its wings and took flight, dragging you kicking and screaming with it as the room fell away from you, replaced by screeching metal and blaring alarms.

You were back on the Enterprise, your first field mission since graduating from Starfleet. It wasn’t common for journalists to accompany crew on long missions, but the Enterprise wasn’t a common ship. Everyone in the fleet wanted to know more about the ship, led by the larger-than-life James Kirk. Your job was to profile the crew, to highlight the faces behind the best ship in the galaxy. You spent a lot of time getting to know everyone, especially Jim.

You tried to remain professional but interviewing him became harder and harder the more time you spent together. You wanted to know more about Jim than his inspirations and his dreams. You wanted to know everything - what food he liked, which side of the bed he preferred, what made him feel safe. Most of all, you wanted to know what made him smile.

Once you found out, it was all you could do. His smile was so intoxicating. When the two of you were alone and he gave you that special smile he reserved for you. God, there was nothing more beautiful in the ‘verse. His entire face lit up, and the edges of his eyes would wrinkle. He smiled with his whole body, his whole being, and it filled you with longing to do better, to be better so you could see that smile for the rest of your life.

Then Pike died and Jim stopped smiling.

Then Khan came and Jim stopped breathing.

You watched him, through inch thick glass and steel as the light you’d spent the last few months worshipping faded away, throwing the deepest parts of you into darkness. Everything else drained from you, leaving one thought in your mind. One thought that forced you to your feet, to the ground after Khan. All thoughts of risk died with Jim. If you couldn’t beat Khan, maybe he’d at least have the mercy to kill you.

He did, for a short time. Until, Dr. McCoy brought your body back to life. You weren’t so sure about the rest. Every time you looked in the mirror you still saw a corpse. You dreamt of death, of something in the darkness with Khan’s face and Khan’s voice but the twisted body of a creature unknown to you wrapping its icy hands around your throat until you were gasping for air, begging for mercy, for death, for Jim but he wasn’t there. He couldn’t be there. He was wrestling with his own demons.

From an outsider’s view, things got better. Your profiles were published. You wrote a book about your experience with Khan and your tryst with death. People stopped you in the street to congratulate your bravery, to ask you what was next. You couldn’t tell them, not because you couldn’t see the future but because you couldn’t see a future at all.

That’s why your therapist suggested a routine. Get up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. The same thing every day, so there was no question what the future would hold. It would be more of the same. Get up. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Go to work. It was enough to keep you on track most days. As you stared at the drying blood on your fingers, though, you knew it wouldn’t help today.

You fumbled through the drawer in your nightstand for your phone, typing a message to Bones. _Bad day. Need help. _Even those four words took tremendous energy, and you let the phone tumble from your hands once the message was sent. You blinked, and he was beside you, gingerly touching the cut on your head, feeling for any broken bones in your arm.

He talked like he was underwater, touched you as if through a blanket. Bones held your hands in his, forcing you to breathe with him until the world came back into focus. He didn’t say anything as he packed up his med kit. You didn’t say anything as you watched him. How many times had you been here before?

“I’m having a party tomorrow,” Bones said. “You should come.”

“Not really a partier,” someone said. It was your voice, you were sure of it. But it was distant. Hollow.

Bones sighed, closing his eyes. “It’ll be good for you to get out for a night.” He walked to the side of your bed. “The crew misses you. _I_ miss you.” He pressed a kiss over the bandage on your scalp, keeping a hand under your chin. You savored the feel of it. “At least think about it.” You nodded. Bones knew that was good as he’d get and walked to the door. He sent you one last look, but you were already far away again.

He came back the next day, dress in hand, determined to take you out. You didn’t fight him, and soon you were back at his place, standing by the window overlooking the city. It looked peaceful from up here. You wondered what peace felt like. Then a hand slid onto the small of your back like a key into a lock, two parts created solely for each other. You looked into the window and saw a ghost.

“You look beautiful,” Jim whispered.

You looked through him, out over the city, the empty furnace of your heart trying to sputter to life. “I know how to clean up.” A smile with nothing behind it.

Jim watched your reflection, more dazzling than any he’d ever seen. Silence fell but he kept his hand in place, hoping that alone would say everything he couldn’t bring himself to.

“What are we doing,” you asked, though you weren’t sure if you were talking to Jim’s reflection or your own.

“Enjoying the city.”

“I should go,” you muttered. Jim tightened his grip around your waist. You looked away from his reflection, as if seeing the real Jim for the first time. Past the tiredness on his face and the emptiness in his smile, you thought you could see fear in his eyes as they slowly locked with yours.

“Stay,” he whispered. “Please.

“We’ve done this before. I-”

“Wrote the book on it. Literally.” You let his words sink in but could find no bitterness. There was a spark of joy gone as soon as it was lit. Jim put his free hand on your cheek, brushing your skin with his thumb. His lips were parted in awe of you. You reached your hand up to his jaw, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin, the scratch of stubble as he turned his head to press his lips to the palm of your hand. You felt his lips move against your skin as he whispered, “I think I’m ready for the sequel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr @trade-baby-blu


End file.
